


The Kinder Path

by purpleeyesandbowties



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, M/M, Pre-Canon, The Clay family - Freeform, Trans Caduceus Clay, Trans Male Character, and im emotionally attached to the fic, and ran with it, fjord's complex feelings about the wildmother, for reasons that will become clear, i took cad's statement about weakness after scrying on his family, messing with canon timelines bc i can, the stone family, then intersecting with canon later on, which are far more resentful here than in canon, written pre-aroace reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:48:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23845474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleeyesandbowties/pseuds/purpleeyesandbowties
Summary: In which Uk’otoa has it out for Fjord from the start, the Wildmother tries her best to put him on a kinder path, and fate has a way of making it all shake out in the wash.
Relationships: Caduceus Clay/Fjord
Comments: 3
Kudos: 79





	The Kinder Path

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for me, but i hope you like it anyway
> 
> edit 10-31-2020: i wrote this way before we knew Cad was ace. I don't want to erase or downplay Caduceus' canon sexuality but also the sexual aspects are kind of baked into the DNA of this fic and i would have to rewrite the entire thing for it to be fixed. i don't have the time or inclination to do that. Please accept my apologies and let this be a relic of not-knowing.

When Fjord was just old enough to be a man, he felt he was ready to leave his family, the Stones who had scooped him up from the Port Damali orphanage like he was one of their own. (Though he was happy to leave that lightless place, he never truly believed he was a child of the Wildmother. Why would a name someone else forced on him be a sign from a goddess?). His foster family was loving, if unconventional, and never asked more of him than he wanted to give. Except for that night, when he told them he was ready to pursue his own destiny and find his own path, away from the Menagerie.

Giama had been delighted. “This is wonderful timing, Fjord,” she’d exclaimed, a giant hand landing hard on his shoulder and nearly knocking him over. He’d been weak-kneed with nerves anyhow, and the Goliath’s strength was enough to knock him over on a good day. She continued, “we have received word from the Clay family—they are in trouble and require help, as soon as possible. None of us can leave the Menagerie, not during the wet season, when there are so many deaths. But if you feel called to leave—this must surely be a sign from the Wildmother.”

“The Clays?” Fjord repeated. The Clays, if he recalled his history lessons, cared for the Blooming Grove, which was in the Dwendalian Empire—nowhere near the crashing shores of the Menagerie Coast that haunted his dreams. The dreams had been his near-constant companions these past few months. They were as varied as the sea itself—some were thrilling, exciting, full of adventure and beautiful creatures. Some were dark, filled with bloody water and shadows in the deep. Some spoke to him, promising rewards and great power, if only he was brave enough to seek it out. No matter what caused them or what they meant, Fjord wanted to find out. Even if the deep, echoing voice that accompanied the dreams was nearly painful to listen to.

“Yes,” Eremis said. He was much less animated than his companion, but Fjord saw that his bright eyes held just as much excitement. “As Gaima says, this is serendipitous timing. Will you take up the cause and help our fellows in the Dwendalian Empire?”

“What kind of trouble are they in?” Fjord asked. Maybe it was just a quick monster-killing or question about plant care. He was already weaving together a plan of stopping by for a few days or weeks, until the danger had passed, then leaving again for the Menagerie Coast, or even back to his home city of Port Damali to pursue the sea. Eremis shook his head. “I don’t know. Magic is a wonder, of course, but it does impose limits on communication.”

“Yeah, I guess I can help them out. But after that, I really think I need to make my own way. The sea—”

“Very good, son,” Eremis said, smiling serenely. “I shall send word back to the Clays presently.”

Fjord scowled and sunk down in his seat, feeling much younger than his twenty-two years. The Stone loved him plenty, but they were always too far up the Wildmother’s ass to listen to anything but her. With a tiny stab of guilt, he sent a silent apology upwards to the Wildmother, for thinking about her ass and his family’s place in it. He’d never gotten a direct vision from her, never even saw her face in his dreams, but even he knew better than to be rude to a goddess and _not_ say he was sorry.

Eremis left, obviously focused on his goal, and Gaima put an arm around Fjord and squeezed him lightly.

“We’ll be sorry to see you go, Fjord. It’s great that the Wildmother is sending you out into the world, but I’m going to miss having you around.”

“I’ll miss you, too,” Fjord admitted. Of all of his unconventional parents, Gaima was the one he felt closest to. She cared for him when he was sick, told him stories about the world outside the Menagerie, listened to him complain about his lack of connection with the Wildmother. 

“All in good time,” she had said once. “Some people wait a lifetime to speak to her.”

“I’m supposed to be a Stone. One of her special chosen children, right?”

Gaima’s laugh was far too amused and it made Fjord’s hackles rise in annoyance. “Special, you are, Fjord. Just be patient. Your time is coming.”

“Whatever,” Fjord had muttered, fifteen and angry at anyone who looked at him wrong.

Now, years later, she folded him into a hug for a moment, before pushing back and saying, “we had better get you packed. Better leave quickly. The Blooming Grove is a long journey and we don’t know how much time the Clays have before their problem is unsolvable.”

Part of Fjord hoped it _would_ be unsolvable, so that he could get back to his plans sooner. Something deep and primal in him was pulling him to the port, to the sea. He’d never found a strong connection with the Wildmother, no matter how his foster family encouraged him to reach out to her, but he thought he might be able to forge one with her on the water. Half of him craved it; the other half thought he might commit himself to another god, just to get revenge for all the years she had ignored him.

Nevertheless, he had a long journey, alone, to get to the Blooming Grove, and most of it would be through nature. So, on the eve of his departure, he lit incense and sat with his back to the Menagerie’s cave system and his front to the ocean, and he prayed.

“Mother, please lead me safely to the home of our brethren, the Clays. Guide my hands to help and heal in your name. Clear my eyes to see the work I must do. Speak into my willing ear, so that I may hear your will.”

The cadence of the words was well-worn with ceremony and practice. Though it was not a formal prayer, he’d done a variation of the stuffy, old-fashioned pleas many times since he was brought from the orphanage. He did his best to put a little emotion in his voice aside from annoyance. Meditation hadn’t come naturally to him—it took years of lessons with Eremis to even get comfortable with the pose and the silence and the waiting. Tonight, for once, he wasn’t uncomfortable, sitting still and listening to the waves crash against rock and sand. He could hardly feel the rock beneath his thighs, or the ache of his back as he sat up as straight as he could. 

He let his prayer fade off to nothing and closed his eyes. His breathing evened out and he breathed in deeply, just once, to get the taste of the Menagerie in his nose. He would miss some things—his family, yes, the beach and the smell of fresh, heavy soil. And then he heard a voice, so wispy it might as well have been the wind.

“What he offers, accept. It is a kinder path than the one in front of you.”

That was it. Nothing more. Not a “hey, Fjord, sorry for ignoring you for a decade” or a “do not doubt your place in this family, for you really are a child of Stone” or any of the things Fjord spent the latter half of his childhood desperately wishing to hear from her.

“Fuck,” Fjord spat, letting the tension out of his limbs and falling onto his back. He pressed his fists against his closed eyes.

“Did she speak?” Gaima asked. Fjord jumped. He hadn’t realized someone else was near him. He must have really been deep in his meditation.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Doesn’t mean I have to like what she said.”

“I often don’t,” Gaima said, sitting down next to him. She stuck out her hand and Fjord used it as leverage to sit up. 

“She told me to accept what ‘he’ offers. I assume ‘he’ is one of the mysterious Clays.”

“Hmm,” she said noncommittally. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Gaima didn’t make eye contact or ask him any probing questions. 

“What happens if I disobey a goddess?” he finally asked.

Gaima tilted her head, considering the ocean as it sprawled out in front of her. “It depends on the goddess. If you’re referring to our mother, I assume she would be disappointed. It may mess up her plans for you. But I know you do not like others making plans for you.”

She smiled and glanced over at Fjord. “You didn’t even like Eremis or Darrah picking the type of vegetable you ate at mealtimes.”

“Yeah, when I was nine,” Fjord muttered. She had a point, though—stubbornness apparently ran in his veins, Stone or not. He leaned his shoulder against Gaima’s side, briefly. 

“I’m going to bed. Early morning tomorrow,” he said, in place of a lot of different things.

She said, “Sleep well,” and Fjord imagined the dozens of things she hadn’t.

—

The road to the Blooming Grove was long and boring and dangerous and filled with prayers that went unanswered. Fjord, who hadn’t been off the grounds of the Menagerie for longer than a foray into the surrounding jungle for supplies since he was a kid, forgot how to pack a bag. By the time he reached the town of Shadycreek Run, his beard was well on its way to grown in and his hair brushed against his jawline. It was mid-afternoon, at that point. He had planned to stop in Shadycreek Run to get some supplies, maybe sleep in a bed, and get a quick shave off someone with a sharp enough knife, but two minutes in the town told him he didn’t want to be on the business end of any kind of blade here. He made one necessary stop to grab some tough jerky and some water from a tavern, got an ale for the road, and left as quickly as he could manage without making it look like he was running away. It wasn’t that he was a coward. It was just that this place looked like it was itching for a fight, and a smaller-than-average tuskless half-orc traveling alone with a heavily-laden pack was an opportunity a little too sweet to stomach. Reflexively, he gripped the strap of his pack a little tighter and kept his head up as he walked past a group of loitering human men.

He was so focused on staying out of eyeshot of the human men that he almost didn’t see the person in front of him. A strong, thin hand shot out and gripped his shoulder, pushing him gently but firmly backward. Fjord startled and looked up into the face of the man he’d almost bumped into. The person was a tall, gaunt firbolg—easily seven feet tall, with shocking pink hair spilling down his shoulders.

“Careful, now,” the firbolg said. His voice was even and kind, and Fjord took a step back, brushing himself down quickly.

“Sorry. My mind was elsewhere.”

“That can be a dangerous thing in this town,” the firbolg warned. He smiled, then, and said, “My name is Caduceus. You look lost, if it’s not too rude to say.”

“Fjord,” Fjord returned. “Is it that obvious I’m not from around here?”

Caduceus shrugged. “Not a bad thing. Few people want to be from around here. What brings you to the lawless town of Shadycreek Run?”

“I’m actually just passing through.” Fjord pulled out his map. He knew he was in the right general direction, but the Grove was not actually on the map. The words ‘shrine’ and ‘Wildmother’ were on his lips, but this wasn’t Xhorhas anymore—Dwendalians were odd about what gods were legal and Fjord couldn’t remember if his goddess was on the approved list. Instead, he said, “Maybe you can help me. I’m looking for a cemetery—the Blooming Grove, it’s called. I know it’s close by.”

The stranger’s eyes lit up and his cow-like nose crinkled in what Fjord assumed was delight.

“It appears my introduction was somewhat lacking. It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Caduceus Clay, and, unless I’m mistaken, you’re the Mr. Stone that I sent for half a season ago.”

“Oh,” Fjord said dumbly. He laughed and pushed back his hair. “That’s—this is quite the coincidence.”

“If you’d like to call it that,” Caduceus said amicably. He took Fjord’s arm and tucked it into his own. Lowly, he said, “Forgive my forwardness. It’s just that the group of individuals a few yards away are starting to look for trouble. I know the fastest—and quietest—ways out of town.”  
“Lead on,” Fjord said, relieved.

—

As it turned out, the Blooming Grove was only a few hours away on foot, and Caduceus had a cart pulled by wild horses. He had been in town for a supply run, stocking up for the season.

“My brother is leaving soon,” Caduceus said, as Fjord helped him load up the cart. “I got some things for him and for his traveling companion as well.”

“Who is he traveling with?” Fjord asked. Caduceus simply said, “I believe that all depends on you, Mr. Stone,” and left it at that. Though he had only known Caduceus for a handful of minutes, it occurred to Fjord that the firbolg just expected people to follow his thoughts, even if they were only half spoken aloud. He didn’t push it, though, and loaded another sack of potatoes in silence. Once the cart was full, Caduceus gestured to the wooden plank that served as the driver’s seat. It was a tight squeeze for them both, but Fjord didn’t complain—better up here than bouncing around with the vegetables in the back. Caduceus took a moment to speak to the horses, something low and murmured under his breath, and hauled himself up next to Fjord. He clicked his tongue and the cart began rolling forward. After a moment of quiet, Fjord said, “Uh, I just wanted to say it’s good to meet you. Running into you in town was a stroke of luck. I was hoping that before we arrive at your—the Wildmother’s temple, you could tell me more about the problem you’re having, and how I can help.”

Caduceus sighed. “Well, that is a very complicated issue, I’m afraid.”

“I’m listening,” Fjord said, leaning forward intently. Caduceus laughed softly. 

“I can see you are,” he said. Then, “To be blunt, the Blooming Grove is dying. It has been happening for many seasons, now. It needs something stronger than what my family’s magic can offer. One by one—or, more accurately, two by two, my family has left to find a cure and a cause for the disease that threatens the Grove, if there is either to be found. As I mentioned, my brother Colton is preparing for departure, with either myself or my sister Clarabelle to accompany him.”

“I understand so far,” Fjord said, after Caduceus’ pause stretched on past a simple break to collect his thoughts.

“Mm,” Caduceus said with a nod. “Forgive me. This is not the setting I expected to explain this….situation. I’m trying to find the best way to say it. So. My mother, my father, my aunt Corrin, and my sister Calliope have already departed. I have not heard from them in…well, firbolgs do not measure time in years, but it has been some significant time since I saw them last. I doubt they will return. That’s why my brother leaves now, to continue their mission, and to bring them home.”

Caduceus touched his chest, where an emblem of the Wildmother hung from around his neck. “In whatever way he can.”

“I’m sorry for your…losses,” Fjord offered. Caduceus’ somber mood dropped instantly and he smiled again. 

“Ah, I did not mean to…thank you, Mr. Stone. In any case, you came here for an explanation, not a sob story. The point is that the Clay family, as it stands, is dwindling. Once Colton leaves, it will be just myself—or Clarabelle.”

“You mentioned that I would be the deciding factor for which of you leaves. Why is that?”

Caduceus glanced over at Fjord, then back at the road. “So far, all of this information could have been transmitted through a letter, or a spell. But this is where my explanation gets too complicated to rely on anything but face-to-face communication. For firbolgs, isolation is a punishment. Torture, even. It simply is not sustainable for the amount of time I expect my family to be gone. One firbolg, separated from his family, must have a companion.”

“A companion. Like a friend?” Fjord asked. Caduceus pursed his lips and continued without answering Fjord’s question.

“We are quite alone in this little section of the world. Worshippers of the Wildmother in the Empire are scattered and lack devotion. In the event that the rest of my family dies in pursuit of the cure for the Blooming Grove, we are in agreement that the Clay line should—must—continue, to ensure that the Wildmother’s resting place will not fade away to nothing. With the departure of my brother and sister, we will have reached the end of the line—aside from me. There is no time to find another servant of the Wildmother or convert anyone to the task. My companion must already serve her, know her ways and the ways of her champion’s families. Do you understand, Fjord?”

Caduceus’ disarming pink eyes stared so intensely at Fjord he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Slowly, he said, “You asked me to come here because I’m Stone. To help you take care of the Blooming Grove? Or to take care of it when you leave?”

“I’m not leaving,” Caduceus said, and Fjord almost detected something like bitterness in his voice. Then it softened. “I called you here to _stay_ with me. To continue the Clay line.”

Fjord glanced around, trying to put together the pieces Caduceus was giving him. Gustily, Caduceus sighed, though it seemed to be more in frustration with himself than Fjord.

“I am asking you to marry me, Mr. Stone, and ensure the Clays live on after my family departs.”

Fjord took a sharp breath in and choked on his own spit. He coughed violently, took another breath, and coughed again. Caduceus laid a hand on his back and cool healing magic took away the ragged feeling in his throat. Now all that was left was an uncomfortable churning in his stomach that couldn’t be cured with magic.

“Sorry,” Fjord managed between breaths. “I just—I didn’t expect—”

“You see why I could not explain before now?” Caduceus said wryly. “I know it is a shock. I’m sure you have questions.”

There were a million things Fjord wanted and needed to ask, but his mind caught on a loose thread from the beginning of the conversation.

“You said you or your sister might leave, and that it was up to me.”

“Colton will not travel alone, for the same reasons I outlined just a few moments ago. Either myself or my sister will accompany him. The one who stays behind will enter this marriage with you. If you prefer a wife over a husband, Clarabelle will be happy to offer her services—though she is of childbearing age, she is not yet mature, so your marriage bond will have to remain symbolic for another dozen seasons or so.”

“Ew,” Fjord said, on instinct. He flushed instantly. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to be rude. I—I’m sure that Clarabelle is…lovely, but I would not feel comfortable marrying a girl—woman—especially one so young. I mean—” Fjord mentally shoved his booted foot into his mouth and finished lamely, “You’ll do just fine.”

Thankfully, Caduceus neither mentioned or laughed at Fjord’s verbal fumbling. For the first time, Fjord could pick out an emotion on the firbolg’s serene face—relief.

“That’s good to hear. Clarabelle is quite eager to travel and not so eager to be tied down in marriage. I have been operating on the assumption that I will be the one to stay behind. I am glad this is shaping up to be the case.”

Meekly, Fjord raised a finger, feeling slightly ridiculous. A fleeting grin slipped over Caduceus’ mouth and he said, “A question, Mr. Stone?”

“Ah, yes. You said—to continue the Clay family line. Do you mean…..children?”

Caduceus took a breath before saying, “Yes, if and when we reach that level of emotional comfort with each other. There is plenty of time for that, and nothing I wish to rush into.”

“But if I’m marrying you and not your sister….” Fjord said, trailing off.

Calmly, Caduceus said, “I am quite capable of bearing children.”

Another sentence, another foot in his mouth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to presume.”

“It’s fine, Mr. Stone. The Mother blessed me with a body to carry children and a soul that desired other things. It is…lucky, though, that your taste runs towards men, and I happen to be a man who can bear children.”

“Lucky,” Fjord repeated, not sure if the emphasis Caduceus put on the word was implying something other than luck.

Caduceus said, “we have another hour until we reach the Grove. I have given you much information in a short amount of time. I’ll let you think it all over. Ask me questions as you think of them, if you think of them. And, please know that if you decide this calling is not right for you, or you know of anyone else better suited to the task, you may leave at any point up until my siblings’ departure. Until then you are an honored guest of the Blooming Grove.”

Fjord nodded, taking that promise and tucking it away in a corner of his mind, where it might be needed in the future. He didn’t want to commit to anything—either the marriage or rejecting it—until he’d had a moment of peace to think it over. He took Caduceus’ invitation of silence and closed his eyes. Caduceus said nothing and Fjord was grateful for it.

—

The Blooming Grove was beautiful, despite the clear sickness infecting it from the outside in. In another life, Fjord might have been creeped out by the varieties of tea named for the people they grew from, but as someone who had spent the second half of his childhood leaving bodies out in the jungle for animals to feast on, he thought was a quainter version of what he already did. Besides, the tea was delicious.

Soon after their arrival, Caduceus gestured to a smaller building a few paces from the also-small temple in the middle of the Grove. 

“Our guesthouse. Forgive us for its humbleness—it does not see many visitors. Consider it yours until you have arrived at a decision. Please, settle yourself, meditate, write your family. Whatever you need to do.”

Fjord carried himself and his single traveling pack to the guesthouse. It was walled with fresh wood, floored with clean grass and dirt. A comfortable hay bed took up a good section of the single room, with an alter to the Wildmother in the other corner. It took Fjord less than a minute to put down his pack, place his symbol to the Wildmother (second or third hand, carved brass, nothing special) on the alter, and decide it was entirely too cramped for him. He emerged back out into the daylight and immediately felt his shoulders loosen.

“Is the guesthouse okay? Will you be comfortable there?” Caduceus asked, still at the cart. He’d set the horses free and was in the process of unloading supplies.

“Yes,” Fjord lied. “Just thought I’d help with the groceries.”

Caduceus beamed. “That’s very kind of you.”

Fjord loaded up his arms and followed Caduceus to the temple.

“Colton, Belle, I’m back!” he called. Fjord decided it wasn’t his place to announce himself, and stayed silent. There was the sound of shuffling from inside the temple and an older male voice called, “About time! I thought you’d gotten captured by thieves and Clarabelle would have to stay behind after all.”

“That’s mean!” a younger, female voice responded. “Cad wouldn’t make me marry whoever the Stones send. What if they’re old? Or ugly? Or—”

A young firbolg girl rounded the corner and stopped short at the sight of Fjord. 

“Right here?” Caduceus offered, laughing. The girl—Clarabelle, obviously—flushed bright pink and hid her face in her hands.

“Shit,” she said quietly. She looked up, brushed down her skirt, and folded her hands in front of her. “Hello, honored guest. You are of the Stones, yes?”

Fjord bit back a grin, relieved beyond measure he’d already told Caduceus he wasn’t interested in marrying a woman—Clarabelle looked barely fifteen, though he was sure she was years older than him.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m Fjord. I had the pleasure of running into your brother in Shadycreek Run.”

“It would have been nice if he had called ahead and _told_ us that,” she hissed at Caduceus. He shrugged, clearly not sorry at all. 

“As an apology, I’ll make some food for us. I’m sure Mr. Stone is hungry from traveling so far to reach us.”

“You always cook anyway, Cad,” she muttered, arms crossed, but she didn’t look upset anymore. 

Caduceus wouldn’t hear of Fjord helping him prepare the meal, so Fjord awkwardly helped Clarabelle store the supplies in various cupboards and then sat, just as awkwardly, at the rough-hewn oak table while Caduceus bustled around the kitchen. He closed his eyes as if in mediation or prayer, but that was just a ruse to get a moment to think without interruption. Caduceus’ offer jarred obnoxiously around inside his head, and he was seconds from speaking up, telling Caduceus that coming here was a mistake and the task at hand was too much for him to take on. But then another thought bumped into that impulse—the Wildmother’s voice. Her first and only words to him: _what he offers, accept. It is a kinder path than the one in front of you._

If _this_ was the kinder path, Fjord was certain he didn’t want to know what path she had taken him off of. 

—

They ate a wonderful, filling, meat-free meal at the table. Fjord sat on one bench by himself, with the three Clay siblings taking up the bench on the other side. It was equally uncomfortable and relieving that no one tried sitting next to him.

“Well,” Colton said, once the meal had ended and Fjord had helped move the dirty dishes to the washbasin, already filled with warm, soapy water. “I think Clarabelle and I should get going as soon as possible.”

“Surely you’ll wait for the morning,” Fjord said, startled. “The woods are dangerous at night.”

Colton smiled, gesturing to a large sword leaning against the wall. “Me and Clarabelle can handle ourselves. Besides, by the time we stop for a rest, we should be out of the woods.”

Caduceus said nothing, but Fjord saw him blink rapidly several times, his face tilted away from his siblings.

Fjord shrugged. “Fair enough.”

“How about you, Mr. Stone? You going to be okay here alone with Caduceus?” Clarabelle said. She sidled up to him and winked, jabbing an elbow in Caduceus’ side. “Keep him company and all?”

Fjord cleared his throat, trying to repress the blush that threatened his cheeks. “I think myself and Mr. Clay will be just fine, kid.”

Caduceus rolled his eyes. “Okay, Belle, that’s enough. Go pack.”

“Already done.”

“Go pray, then. Say goodbye to the shrine. It’ll be a while ‘till you see it again.”

Clarabelle’s face darkened, her mouth turning downward.

“Thanks for reminding me,” she said, sounding hurt. Caduceus pressed his lips together and pulled Clarabelle in for a quick hug. 

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I just—”

“I know. We’ll miss you, too,” Clarabelle said. She took a step back, squared her shoulders, and said, “I’m going to pack my bags on the cart. And visit the shrine. Don’t come outside until we’re gone or we’ll all be messes.”

Caduceus nodded. He hugged her again, fiercely, then ruffled her hair.

“Be safe,” he said.

“You too,” she said. Colton left without saying goodbye to his brother. Caduceus watched the door swing shut with an unreadable look on his face. Over the course of the next half an hour, Fjord heard the two pack up the cart, gather horses to hitch to it, leave the Blooming Grove. Caduceus sat at the table, watching the door. Then, he blinked, rousing himself from his stupor, and turned to Fjord.

“Tea, I think,” he said briskly.

As he moved around the kitchen, Fjord watched and held his tongue. He could tell that Caduceus was pushing something down—loss, probably, uncertainty and worry for his family. Despite his obvious internal battle, Caduceus looked like the picture of calm. He had a serene smile on his face. His hands, pouring water and measuring tea leaves, were perfectly steady. The disparity filled the air with nervous energy, and Fjord had to try very hard not to tap his fingers on the tabletop.

“Thank you for staying,” Caduceus said. “I’m looking forward to our union. You have no idea how much this means to the Clay family, that it will continue on beyond myself.”

“About that,” Fjord said hesitantly. “I had a question.”

“Go ahead,” Caduceus said, pouring the boiling water from the kettle into a simple teapot.

Fjord said, “I guess I don’t understand why this step, and why now. I’m going to stay here with you for the foreseeable future. You even said that children are a long ways off in your life plan. Why do we have to get married? Can’t we wait on it?”

So suddenly that Fjord could hardly see it happen, Caduceus’s calm demeanor wavered. Then, to Fjord’s horror, it shattered completely, along with the clay teapot against the dirt floor. Tea splattered everywhere, splashing steaming water on Caduceus, but he didn’t even flinch. He was completely focused on Fjord. There was a look on his face—incredible pain, grief and panic mixing together painfully.

“Don’t you understand? I am _alone_. My brother and sister have left already—I am alone. I have nothing, no one. Unbound to anything.”

“But you can contact them! Magic spells, I heard Clarabelle saying you can use them,” Fjord argued. The sudden change in Caduceus had thrown him off considerably. For the first time since entering Caduceus’ company, Fjord felt worried, almost unsafe.

“You are not a firbolg. You do not understand.”

“Make me understand.”

Caduceus took several deep, bracing breaths. It did nothing to calm the manic look of fear and desperation in his eyes. Fjord didn’t know what he didn’t understand, only that there was a major disconnect between what he thought was happening and what was unfolding in front of him.

“Firbolgs are defined by our bonds to one another. Son, brother, nephew—I am these things as much as I am myself. But my family is gone. I am alone, not a brother to anyone, not a son anymore, not a nephew. The only titles I have left is a servant of the Wildmother, and my last name. It’s not _enough._ ”

“Your family is traveling, not _dead._ You have magic, right? You can just talk to them, can’t you?”

Caduceus shook his head.“Tell me this, Mr. Stone, what is worse: to watch your family, your lifeblood, leave you behind and going on with your life, having faith they are safe and happy and successful? Having faith they live and thrive outside your bounds of knowing? You do not know, but you have faith, and it sustains you, allows you to go about your business without fear or loneliness. Or, is it worse to watch them leave, keep in contact with them, hear their voice in your head every day, _knowing_ every day they are safe and happy until one day, they don’t answer? And you are still left behind, not knowing _why,_ not knowing _how,_ not knowing _where,_ not knowing if they are dead or simply incapacitated, not knowing if they could be rescued or, if you attempt a rescue, if you would reach them in time? You know none of these things but you are absolutely _certain_ in your knowledge that there was _nothing_ you could have done to save them from where you are. Which is worse? Which would you be able to bear?”

“I—I don’t know,” Fjord admitted.

Undeterred, Caduceus pushed ahead, “Clarabelle and Colton are gone now. For the sake of my sanity, I must not allow myself to think of their return. And so, to me, they are simply _gone_. Not dead, but not an active part of my life, either. Not there. I had already lost the titles of son and nephew. Now, I am no longer a brother, until fate proves otherwise.”

His hands clenched the soft stone countertop so hard his fingers turned white with blood loss. “I _need_ a bond in place of the ones no longer holding me together. I _need_ a promise of a relationship that means something. A relationship I can define myself by.”

He slumped against the counter, as if using it to hold him up, and said, “I allowed my family to leave, fully believing that I would have this new bond to sustain me. I have given you chances to leave, to withdraw from this proposition. I am sorry to say that it is too late for you to change your mind. Either you leave right now or marry me tonight. An in-between is unsustainable.”

Fjord gulped, nausea churning in his gut. He didn’t know—didn’t realize—how could he have known—but he should have _asked_ when there was still time to do so _._

“What will happen to you if I leave?” he asked, because he needed to know.

Caduceus laughed dryly, tiredly. “Assuming no one else comes to this lonely corner of the world? I will eventually go mad. It may take more seasons than you have left to live, or it may happen quickly. I will wither away in my loneliness. I will serve the Wildmother until I cannot any longer, and then I will join my charges in the ground.”

He looked up, earnest and raw. “If you must leave, do not feel guilty—clearly I did not explain myself well enough. Leave quickly, and do not think of me at all. I will do the same.”

He turned away, still supported by the counter under his hands, and bowed his head. Too much. It was too much. If he’d had more time to think about it, if he could have prayed or written his family or asked more questions, maybe. But Caduceus was a stranger. There was not a thing in this world that tied them together. Nothing on which to build a bond like the one Caduceus required.

On silent feet, Fjord walked to the door. Before he could take a step outside, he heard a quiet, broken sound—a sob, the kind that had to be muffled by a fist in your mouth. Fjord had heard that sound come from himself many times in his life. The orphanage was a cruel place to boys who cried, but his tears never seemed to care they were as unwanted as he felt. Hearing it now, from this gentle man, from this man who had lost his family and, in the same breath, lost any hope of another one, tore something loose in Fjord’s chest. Thoughtlessly, he dropped his pack on the floor and bolted across the room. His hand was on Caduceus’ shoulder in an instant and before he had time to think better of it, he turned Caduceus around and crushed him in a tight hug. Caduceus’ arms were pinned against his body awkwardly, but Fjord didn’t care. He squeezed Caduceus’ skinny frame tighter.

“I’ll marry you,” he said quietly, not knowing the words were true until they left him. “I’m sorry I didn’t understand at first. I’m an orphan. I longed for family bonds my whole life. The Stones adopted me, I got them. I can’t be responsible for someone else losing theirs.”

Caduceus shuddered in his arms and Fjord sank to his knees, cradling his body. Caduceus’ hands came up and roamed over Fjord’s back, clutching at some moments, simply touching in others. Fjord buried his face in Caduceus’ hair and let him touch his fill. Into the sound of their harsh breathing, he caught a word.

“Husband,” Caduceus murmured. “You will be my husband. I am your husband.”

“Yes, we will be. Do we need a ceremony? Witnesses? To say a prayer? I don’t know how this works.”

“The Wildmother asks for no ceremony but what nature demands of mates.”

Caduceus’ words, reverent and hungry, sent a bolt into Fjord’s stomach. “You mean…”

“Make love to me and we will be married. We need only do this once. I will never ask it of you again, unless you also desire it. But to be mated, this is what must happen.”

Fjord swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Neves, excitement, dread, anticipation—he couldn’t quite tell what it was, but it rested heavy in his stomach.

Worry crept into Caduceus eyes. “Is it okay? Pretend I am a stranger in a tavern—imagine to be anyone else, if it helps. I can change my appearance somewhat. What would you prefer?”

Fjord pulled Caduceus flush against his body and said, “I would prefer for my husband to let me kiss him.”

And he did, and Caduceus let him, melted under his mouth, became pliant and willing. Fjord broke the kiss and began working at the buttons of his own vest and shirt. Though he was focused on his task, he saw Caduceus doing the same. He stripped himself of his top quickly and tossed it aside. Caduceus’ chest was as bare as his, but covered in a light grey fuzz—fur, Fjord realized. It made sense. The rest of his body was fuzzy, with more fur on his arms and legs, like body hair. Caduceus’ breasts were small and flat, proportionate to his frame, but still noticeable. Fjord didn’t know if it was okay to look. 

“May I?” he asked, not sure what he was asking about. 

“Yes,” Caduceus said simply. His eyes were locked on Fjord’s bare chest and apparently he didn’t share any of Fjord’s qualms, because he reached out and touched him. He caressed Fjord’s chest, and his hands wandered further down Fjord’s waist and to the waistband of his trousers. Fjord shivered. He returned the favor by putting his hands on Caduceus’ chest. He rubbed small circles on the tender flesh above one areola, and gently pushed Caduceus onto his back. Caduceus went easily, without complaint. Fjord followed him down, one of his knees resting between Caduceus’ legs. His crotch pressed against Caduceus’ leg, and his cock was starting to get interested in this turn of events. He rocked back and forth slightly, to encourage things to keep moving. He didn’t expect the action to make Caduceus moan, but the reverberation of the sound through their chests—now tightly pressed together—went straight to his cock, helping things along quite a bit. Fjord kissed Caduceus through his moan, tugging on his lip with his teeth.

Caduceus growled lowly and his hands gripped Fjord’s hips, hard. He slipped a hand underneath Fjord’s trousers and small clothes and touched him. Fjord jumped at the contact, pleasure rushing through him like a shot. He lifted his hips and let Caduceus pull them off him, where they joined the small pile of shirts. Now completely naked, Fjord sat up to give Caduceus a little more room. Caduceus wiggled out of his own pants—no small clothes in sight—and discarded them. The fur surrounding his snatch was thicker and darker than any on the rest of his body. Fjord’s hands hovered in front of it, suddenly unsure. Caduceus must have noticed his hesitation, because he took Fjord’s chin in his hand and tilted his head up for a sweet, gentle kiss.

“It’s okay,” he said. He didn’t clarify what was okay, but that was okay with Fjord. 

“Have you done this before?” Fjord asked. Caduceus shook his head, smiling lightly.

“Not with anyone else. To myself, yes, many times.”

“What do you want me to do?”

Caduceus’ eyes flashed with hunger. “Touch me, open me, then take me. Come inside me. I took a potion earlier—no children will be conceived tonight.”

“Uh, okay, sure,” Fjord said, taken off-guard by Caduceus’ confidence. He knew how to take orders from a bedmate, though, and did not aim to disappoint. Caduceus was wet already, but not wet enough for penetration, so Fjord did his best to remedy that. He laid them both down on the floor again and kissed up and down Caduceus’ chest, sucked his nipples. Caduceus’ legs wrapped around Fjord’s lower back, seemingly on instinct, so Fjord did that again, his other hand reaching out for Caduceus’ pussy. He found his clit after a short moment of fumbling and concentrated on the area surrounding it, only touching it when Caduceus’ little gasps tapered off to harsh breathing. It took an awkward angle, but he got two fingers inside him, moving in and out in time to his own quick breathing. His cock ached, but he ignored it. He wanted Caduceus to be ready.

“Stop,” Caduceus gasped and Fjord’s hand stilled instantly, pulled away.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Caduceus shook his head, his chest heaving. “I was getting close. I want to come with you inside me.”

That urged Fjord to do something about it. He repositioned them, lined his cock up, then paused, looking down at Caduceus. His pupils were blown, his chin shiny with saliva, sweat forming on his brow, and he was smiling. Fjord lowered himself down and kissed Caduceus deeply before sliding into him, bit by bit. Caduceus clenched around him on instinct and made a choked-off sound deep in his throat. Fjord couldn’t help a gasp of his own. Fjord had fooled around on those short trips outside the Menagerie, or with a visitor who was willing to have a little fun, but he’d never done this before. Two of his three total partners had cocks of their own, and the one boy without one that he’d slept with hadn’t been interested in that kind of fun. This was a new experience for them both. He moved slowly, getting them both used to the sensation.

Caduceus squeaked a little. Fjord stopped mid-thrust, making a questioning noise. Caduceus kissed his ear encouragingly. “It’s good. Keep going. I’ll let you know if you’re hurting me,” he said. Fjord took as permission to move a little faster, a little harder, and then neither of them bothered to form words for the next few minutes. 

“Close,” Fjord grunted into Caduceus’ ear, when it became clear this was not going to be an all-night affair. The situation, the suddenness, the emotion behind it all—brought Fjord to the edge quicker than he expected.

“Me too. Finish, make me yours,” Caduceus said, just as breathless. Fjord’s hand crept down between them and he managed to get his thumb on Caduceus’ clit again. It only took a few more strokes and Fjord came, panting into Caduceus’ shoulder. Caduceus clenched and shuddered around him, coming just a few moments later. 

Fjord pulled out, grimacing at the tiny rush of come that came out with his cock. He could see Caduceus’ pussy spasming from the sudden loss of the thing filling it. Caduceus moaned and then his fingers were where Fjord had been, clearly working himself up for another orgasm.

“Need help with that?” Fjord asked, rubbing the back of his neck. Maybe he hadn’t done such a good job, if Caduceus felt the need to service himself right afterward. Caduceus just laughed. “No, no. Rest. You did wonderfully. I just—” he went rigid and fell silent, his fingers continuing to move in a complex pattern Fjord couldn’t follow. He sighed heavily, closed his legs, and sat up.

“I never feel right unless I’ve had at least two.”

“That was….yeah,” Fjord said. He felt awkward, suddenly, like he’d done something wrong. He desperately wanted his clothes back. Caduceus didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable, sitting on a dirt floor, completely bare. He pulled his knees up to his chin and leaned sideways to rest his head against Fjord.

“Husband,” he said happily. “We can get rings if you want, or anything other tokens that would be meaningful to you.”

“Maybe later. I have no idea how you’re talking right now,” Fjord said. He yawned hugely. Caduceus grinned and pulled Fjord to his feet.

“Come to my bedroom and sleep. I’ll be awake for a few hours yet, tending to things in the Grove. When do you usually wake up?”

Fjord shrugged, leaning down to grab his clothes. He wiggled into his small clothes and trousers. “Whenever. I’m a light sleeper. Don’t worry if you wake me when you come to bed.”

Caduceus blinked in surprise. “Oh. You want to sleep in the same bed as me?”

“Uh…” Fjord said, frowning. “I just assumed….”

“Oh, I assumed you’d—” Caduceus said at the same time. He laughed and patted Fjord on the shoulder. “Very well, I’ll see you in a few hours. If you’d like to do any of that again, we’ll have to be careful. The potion wears off in about an hour.”

Fjord nodded sharply, really wishing to be out of this conversation. 

“Goodnight,” he said, then, on an impulse, added, “husband.”

Caduceus’ smile was bright enough to drown out the moonlight coming in through the window. Fjord smiled, too, that uncomfortable knot in his stomach unraveling. Maybe, for once, he didn’t need to distrust something new in his life.

—

What followed was a period of contentedness that Fjord had never known prior. He kept track of the days, though it was nearly unnecessary to do so—the cycle of day and night in the Blooming Grove moved the seasons at a slow, cathartic pace, and nothing changed except the minutia of day-to-day life. Despite the rough, tremulous start of their relationship, Fjord grew to like his life in the Grove, and his place in Caduceus’ world. He liked tending the graves, speaking to the people they used to be while picking weeds or pruning branches or watering roots. This surprised him—his whole life, he’d had an itch under his skin, driving him to explore and, occasionally, get into trouble. Now the itch was absent and he didn’t even miss it. His troubled dreams left him alone, blessedly, and he slept soundly at Caduceus’ side most nights.

Caduceus was easy to love, Fjord found. It was never passionate, all-consuming, burning. Like the passing of time in the Grove, it was gentle, the love he carried in his chest for Caduceus. Fjord felt, oddly, as if they had skipped the first tremulous stages of love and settled in where most couples found themselves after thirty years together. There was certainty in their relationship. Nothing, he thought, would stop Caduceus’ loyalty to him, which made it very easy to be loyal to him in return.

He trusted Caduceus, took suggestions like orders without a hint of resentment, relied on him like he relied on himself. He wasn’t embarrassed to ask Caduceus anything, or to share anything with him. With his honest opinion, Fjord decided to grow out his hair and let his tusks grow in. 

They made love when it suited them, about once every two weeks, directed by hormones and a need for intimacy more than a genuine desire for the other. Not to say that the sex was bad, or unfulfilling—quite the opposite, they found, as they became more comfortable in each other’s bodies—but it wasn’t the wild passion of young lovers. Fjord wondered, every time he moved inside Caduceus, if this was the night they would conceive and restart the family line of Clays, but Caduceus nearly always had the taste of sour berries on his lips—the potion to keep him safe from conception. Fjord didn’t push it. Caduceus was the one in charge of family matters, since it was his family they were saving. Besides, they had plenty of time for parenthood. There was no need to rush.

Except.

Except, around the end of his second year as Caduceus’ husband, Fjord’s his skin began to itch, his mind began to wander. And his dreams turned. The dreams of the sea returned, dark and alluring. Dangerous, one corner of Fjord’s sensible mind whispered. Thrilling, whispered the other half. At first, that’s all it was: the sea, and Fjord in it, sailing it. Fjord diving into the water and swimming as far down as he could manage. Fjord would wake up, breathing hard and reaching for a treasure he could never recall, the voice he could never identify echoing in his ears.

But the dreams got worse. The final straw came on a cold night in the middle of Fjord’s third year.

His dream started with himself making love to Caduceus in the rolling grass of the Grove. It was pleasant and ordinary, his dream mirroring so many dreams and realities he’d had before. But then, the skin between his fingers grew webbed. His teeth, biting at Caduceus’ neck, were suddenly sharp and cruel. Caduceus thrashed in his claws and he tightened his grip, watching with cold amusement as his husband gasped for air. The sea around them turned briny and dark. Caduceus managed to wiggle out of Fjord’s grip and began swimming upwards, to the gentle green light that touched only the first few feet of water, where it would surely be warm and safe. Caduceus, safe—those two words always seemed to go together. 

“Catch,” an unknowable voice thundered. Fjord did as he was told. He surged forward, reaching out and tangling his claws in the flowing fabric of Caduceus’ robes. Caduceus slipped out of them, and continued swimming up, naked. 

“Prize,” the voice insisted. Fjord swam after Caduceus, blood-lust fueling him to move quicker than seemed possible. His claws scraped Caduceus’ back, sending a tantalizing dark ribbon of blood into the water. His teeth stretched his mouth in a grin and his claws shot out, latched around Caduceus’ throat, eliciting a pained, burbling scream.

In his bed, Fjord woke, drenched with sweat. The bed next to him was empty. For one terrible moment, Fjord’s heart clenched with fear. He shot out of bed and ran outside. The full moon gave him enough light to clearly see the gleam of Caduceus’ pink hair, less than twenty feet away, his back turned. He had his sleeping shift on, his staff in his hand. A cloud of his beetles surrounded him, flashing like jewels in the moonlight. The thundering of Fjord’s blood in his ears eased as he listened to Caduceus speaking softly to his bugs. Slowly, Fjord sank to the ground and sat to catch his breath. He closed his eyes. Caduceus was safe. Caduceus wasn’t dead, or drowning, or injured by his own hands. He didn’t have webbed hands or claws, and the sharpest part of his mouth were the tusks he kept carefully dulled. They were breathing air, not water, and the sea was hundreds of miles away. He was safe. They both were.

Caduceus’ soft voice said, “Fjord, are you okay?”

Fjord opened his eyes. Caduceus was crouched beside him, head cocked to one side. His hand hovered around Fjord’s shoulder, as if unsure whether or not to touch. Fjord curled in on himself.

“Bad dream.”

“You’ve had nightmares before,” Caduceus said. “This is different. Tell me.”

Fjord swallowed back the words _I almost killed you. I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to taste your blood._ Instead, he said, “I think something is after me. Something—something dark and powerful. It wanted me before I came here, though I didn’t think it was dangerous then. I think being here sheltered me from it, but it’s found me again.”

“Hm,” Caduceus said. He sat down beside Fjord and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Fjord leaned into him, breathing in the scent of Caduceus’ hair as it brushed his cheek.

“I think I have to leave,” Fjord said. Now Caduceus’ responding hum was concerned.

“Whatever this thing in my dreams is, it’s not going to let me go. The dreams are bad, ‘Duces. I don’t—” he shook his head. “I can’t keep having these dreams.”

“What did he make you do?” Caduceus asked. 

Fjord shook his head. “Don’t make me say it out loud. Just believe me. I can’t. Whatever this is, whoever it is, I have to face it. It’s the only thing I can think of to make the dreams stop.”

“We should talk to the Wildmother,” Caduceus decided. Fjord looked up and frowned, temporarily distracted. 

“What do you mean, ‘talk to her’?” he asked. “Because I don’t think praying is going to do much good.”

“I mean Communion. It’s a spell. We can ask three questions, yes or no, and she will give us clear answers.”

“Wh—I’ve been waiting years to hear from her and you can just call her up whenever you want?”

“It’s a spell that requires faith. I can cast it because I know she will answer. Can you say the same?”

“No,” Fjord said grumpily. He and Caduceus rarely disagreed, but Fjord’s flagging loyalty to the Wildmother was a point of contention between them. Caduceus couldn’t understand how Fjord could doubt their godly mother. Fjord couldn’t understand how Caduceus could trust her so fully. That Caduceus could communicate with her was another sign to Fjord that she loved Caduceus much more than she loved him.

“I’ll teach you,” Caduceus said, standing and offering Fjord his hand. He pulled Fjord to his feet and then into a hug. “But that can wait until morning. For now, we must try to heal and rest.”

He pressed a kiss to Fjord’s sweaty hairline. Fjord buried his face in Caduceus’ shoulder, doing his best not to cry. Caduceus led them to bed and they laid down together. Fjord let himself be rocked back and forth like a child. And like a child, he was comforted.

—

Caduceus taught the spell to Fjord, which took most of the next day. He watched as Fjord practiced the words, the gestures, lighting the incense and sprinkling the holy water. He walked Fjord through how to ask the questions as concisely as possible and how the Wildmother might answer. Then he kissed Fjord, pressed the supplies in his hands, and left Fjord alone in front of the Wildmother’s shrine near the back of the property.

Late afternoon was just beginning to wash the Grove in dusky orange light as Fjord began the spell. Incense lit and words spoken, Fjord closed his eyes and waited.

He breathed in and out. On his next breath in, the quality of the air changed, sweeter and lighter than it should have been. He kept his eyes shut.

Three questions. 

“When you first spoke to me, you said I should accept Caduceus’ offer, that it was kinder than the path in front of me. If I go after the thing in my dreams, will it put me back on that other path?”

A slow, reluctantly warm breeze. _Yes._

“If I go, will I find the thing I am seeking?”

A quick blast of unpleasantly warm, dusty air. _Yes._

Last question. He could try to narrow down the location of the thing that hunted him. He could ask what his chances of survival were. He could ask if she would answer his prayers after this.

“If I go, will Caduceus be okay?”

A hesitation this time, before, clearly: _yes._

The incense burned down to nothing. The warm feeling in the air around Fjord dissipated. So that was that. He left the shrine, feeling strangely empty and numb.

“What did she say?” Caduceus asked. He was sitting at the kitchen table, his hands folded calmly in front of him. He’d prepared dinner and tea, and both were sitting, untouched, before him. Fjord pulled out his chair and collapsed into it. He propped up his forehead on his hands.

“She says I can go. I’ll find answers. But it’s not a kind path.”

Caduceus poured a cup of tea and pushed it over to Fjord, who accepted it automatically and took a sip. It was a fruit-heavy blend, rare as teas in the Grove could be. Delicious, as usual. He set it aside.

“You’re going to go,” Caduceus said. It wasn’t a question. Fjord nodded anyway. He stared at the steaming tea in front of him for a few moments. Plaintively, Fjord said, “I don’t want to leave you.”

“You have to,” Caduceus replied. He didn’t sound angry or upset or even sad. Just distant. Blank. It was reminiscent of the day his siblings had left him, and it sent a stab of worry and doubt through Fjord. 

Caduceus said, “if the Wildmother says you will succeed, I have faith in her.”

“Have faith in _me,_ Caduceus,” Fjord said. He reached across the table and took Caduceus’ hand. “You aren’t losing me. I’m going to come back, I swear.”

Caduceus said nothing, but his fingers tightened around Fjord’s. 

“This is not the same as your family. You’re still my husband, and I’m still yours. Cling to our bond, Caduceus, as tightly as I do. Don’t let it go.”

Caduceus pressed his lips together. Then he leaned across the table and kissed Fjord’s forehead.

“I trust you, Fjord. Be careful.”

“I will,” Fjord promised. After that, there wasn’t much to say. They ate, they drank tea, and they held hands. They packed Fjord’s belongings, scraped together some money for him to take with him, set his traveling pack by the door, and retired to bed together. Fjord thought Caduceus would want to make love, but he just snuggled into Fjord’s chest and held him.

“I’m going to miss you,” Caduceus said lowly. Fjord closed his eyes, his throat going tight.

“I’ll miss you, too, Caduceus.”

Neither spoke again, but it was hard to say if either of them slept that night.

—

The morning dawned still and quiet. As soon as sky lightened enough to see, Caduceus rolled over. Fjord was awake, too, and they got up together. Silently, Fjord changed into his traveling clothes, what he had been wearing the day he came to the Blooming Grove. Caduceus handed him each piece of leather armor that went over top, and helped him with the ties. While Fjord tied his boots, Caduceus packed a meal for him, and a flask of hot tea. The best the Grove had to offer.

“Come back safely,” Caduceus said, handing him his traveling pack.

“Be here when I do,” Fjord countered. He kissed Caduceus tenderly before he left, which to Caduceus, was nearly cruel.

Caduceus walked around off-balance for the next few weeks. Unlike when his family had left, he felt Fjord’s presence linger. Like he was just on the other side of those trees, or in the shrine, or cleaning up the house, or going down to the river. Like he was just on a supply run to Shadycreek Run. 

Caduceus took Fjord’s advice to cling to their bond, but the price of that was this numb sense of something missing, something wrong. He shaved one half of his head and felt marginally better. The short stubble reminded him of how Fjord’s beard felt against his cheek. It had been Caduceus’ job to cut Fjord’s hair, every month or so. Now, he kept up with his own haircuts. 

The first week, he Communed every day. The second week, every other day. By the time Fjord had been gone half a year, Caduceus was only Communing once a month. Every time, he asked the same three questions.

_Is he safe?_

_Is he happy?_

_Will he find his way back to me?_

The first two answers changed frequently. That didn’t bother Caduceus too much. No one, not even himself, living in the peaceful Grove, could always be safe and happy. It would be unfair to ask that of Fjord. But it was really the last answer that mattered to him, and it was the only one that stayed consistent: _yes._ He could weather all the rest, as long as that answer was always yes.

Slowly, life returned to normal, as life in the Grove always did. He missed Fjord, and spared a moment for him each day, just to think of him and pray for his safety. But the Blooming Grove needed a caretaker. Caduceus needed to take care of something. Seasons passed, as they were wont to do, and Caduceus did little to stop them. He made more frequent trips into town, to replenish his stocks of incense. He checked in on Fjord; he prayed to the Wildmother; he cared for the graves; he packed a bag, just in case an opportunity to leave presented itself.

That was life, for Caduceus, until a ragtag, grieving group of adventures climbed over his fence and asked for his help. It took very little convincing to get him to go with them. The Wildmother had put them in his path for a reason and he felt that it was time to reclaim his familial bonds that had been too long lost to him—if none of his family could save their home, he would have to. He took a moment to write out a note and leave it on his kitchen table, the edge of it caught under a teapot.

_Go to the Dusts or Stones; I anticipate they will be among the stops I make. I am sorry to have broken my promise. Thank you for keeping yours. The Grove will still need a caretaker, if you decide to wait for me to return. If not, I am certain we will find each other again._

He didn’t sign it. He took up his packed bag, picked up his staff, and took a final look around the house that had raised him and kept him all these years.

“I am ready,” he said to his new companions. “If we are to attack tonight, we have little time to waste.”

—

Somehow, through the long trek through the woods, the stakeout, the invasion, the many fights, though healing and slinging beetles at enemies and figuring out how he fit into the group’s battle dynamics, he never asked the names of the people he was rescuing. Which was why, at the end of hours of battle, exhausted and nearly out of magic, he was surprised to find out _._ The group was clustered tightly around a cell that held two creatures in shadow. Caduceus stepped back, wanting to give his new traveling companions space for their reunions, and feeling, quite suddenly, like the outsider he was. 

The little blue tiefling woman, once freed from her chains, said to Nott, “Fjord is also tied up.” Caduceus’ head snapped up. Gently but insistently, he pushed his way to the front of the group. He took a breath and asked the darkness, “Fjord?”

The person in shadow moved at the sound of his voice, turning his head towards the source of it, and—oh, oh, oh _no_. He had asked the Wildmother, time and time again, if Fjord would return to him. Every time, she had said yes. He had imagined their reunion every time she reassured him, and none of his daydreams looked like this. He rushed into the cell and dropped down on his knees, his hands hovering over Fjord’s bruised face. 

“Oh,” Caduceus said helplessly. “Oh, my dear, I told you to be careful.” 

He carefully pulled off the leather gag and tossed it to one side. Fjord coughed violently. Caduceus helped him sit up, sheltering Fjord’s body with his own. He knew the others were watching—they were Fjord’s friends—they had risked everything to rescue Fjord—but Caduceus desperately wanted this moment for himself. So he turned his back to the group and looked into the face of his husband. Fjord’s bloodshot eyes blinked back up at him. His coughing subsided and he took a deep, rattling breath. His fingers wrapped around Caduceus’ wrist. “‘Duces,” he said, haltingly. “What—what are you doing here?”

“Saving you, apparently,” Caduceus said, taking Fjord’s still-manacled hands. It was awkward, but Fjord lifted his hands and placed his palm, clumsily, on Caduceus’ cheek.

“You left the Grove,” he said, sounding confused. He was probably exhausted, dehydrated, hungry—all things that caused disorientation, and all easily fixed, but it still made something hot and angry flare up in Caduceus to see. He kept his voice calm as he said, “The Wildmother set me on another path. Thankfully, it intersected with yours. Are you alright?”

“Just some scrapes and bruises, ‘Duce. I promise. I swear I was on my way back, just—things kept coming up.” 

“Forgiven,” Caduceus said. Tenderly, he kissed Fjord’s brow, wishing he had more healing to give. He saved it, though, for the third person they had yet to rouse. There was no telling what they might need, and at least Fjord was conscious. He could be healed with time, food, and rest—no magic necessary. 

“Um,” said the tiefling woman, peering over Caduceus’ shoulder. “Quick question. What is going on right now?”

“Seconded,” Nott said. She clung to the tiefling, giving herself a bit more height to see over Caduceus’ head. The tiefling hissed in pain when Nott’s claws dug into her side.

“Shit, sorry, Jester,” Nott said, wincing. She lifted one hand to Caleb, who came over and plucked Nott off Jester’s shoulder to deposit her on his own, saying, “I am also curious. What happened to your voice, Fjord?”

Fjord froze, panic flashing across his face before he could school it. “That’s what you notice, really?” he muttered, an unfamiliar drawl to his words. Caduceus frowned. Until this moment, Fjord’s voice sounded as it always had.

“How do you know Fjord? Also, who are you?” Jester asked. She had a funny look on her face, like some sort of realization was coming over her. Fjord grimaced. He lifted his hands, which made Nott give a small sound of recognition. She scurried down and began to pick the locks of his manacles with her tools. As she did so, Fjord said, in that new strange voice, “Uh, I—this is Caduceus Clay. He’s the keeper of the Blooming Grove, a sacred site of the Wildmother. He’s also, um, my husband.”

“Your _what?!”_ Nott shrieked, as the manacles clattered to the stone floor. “You’re married? And you never _told_ us?”

Fjord rubbed his wrists. Caduceus’ fingers ghosted over the raw skin in sympathy. Fjord gripped Caduceus’ shoulder and hauled himself to his feet. He nearly collapsed a moment after, but Caduceus had a hold of him, and he leaned heavily on Caduceus instead before standing up on his own.

“Thank you,” Fjord murmured. Caduceus nodded, repressing the many other things he wanted to say, namely, _I love you,_ followed by _how did you find such colorful friends?,_ and _are you sure you’re safe?,_ and _what do we do now?_

Instead, he said, “Explanations can wait. Your other friend still needs help.”

“Oh my god, _Yasha_!” Jester said, bolting to the other cell. Caduceus slowly let go of Fjord, making sure he could stay upright. Fjord nodded at him, one hand pressed to his ribs. “I’m fine. Go help Yasha.”

Caduceus nodded and slipped back into a skin he knew—healer, helper, caretaker. It was much more comfortable than what he was in the moment: an outsider, a mystery, a secret.

—

They made camp in the Nest, because no one had the energy or magic to make it back to town, or even to the Grove. Caduceus ached to return home with his husband and care for him there, but repressed it. Fjord was a member of the Mighty Nein, and they had elected to recover here, in the place of Fjord’s torment. From bits and pieces of conversation, Caduceus picked up some of the group’s dynamics. Keg was a temporary member, much like himself. She and Beau kept stealing heated glances at each other—blood lust from the battle turning into a different kind of lust, now that it was over. The group seemed to look towards Fjord as the leader, which made warm pride nestle deep in Caduceus’ sternum. Nott and Caleb cared most for each other (though he already knew that from traveling with them through the night) but Nott stuck as close to Jester as she could. Clearly there was a strong bond there, too. Yasha, the tall, muscular woman, slept. The group as a whole mourned Mollymauk, the absent friend who the captured members did not get to say goodbye to. 

Fjord mostly sat at the table while Caduceus put together some sort of hot meal, quiet. Obviously, there was a lot on his mind, but Caduceus somehow felt as though his kidnapping was not the worst of it. The circles under his eyes were far too dark for just a few days’ worth of hell to impart. When Caduceus felt the meal could stand being left to simmer for a few moments, he sat down next to Fjord on the long wooden bench that framed both sides of the table.

“How are the nightmares?” Caduceus asked. “Did you find the answer to what caused them?”

Fjord sighed and rested his temple against Caduceus’ shoulder.

“I made a mistake, Caduceus. The thing—it was powerful. It wanted me. It lured me to where it could get to me, and then it struck. Stupid. I had no choice but to….”

He grunted in frustration.

Caduceus shifted and looked Fjord directly in the eyes. “What did you do?” he asked sternly.

“I bound myself to it.”

Before Caduceus could react, Fjord said defensively, “The Wildmother didn’t answer me! I was drowning, dying! He said he could save me and I—I had to come back to you. So I took his deal. Now I have powers I don’t understand and the dreams are still there, but they’ve changed now. At least I can sleep at night, Caduceus,” he finished, voice bone-tired. 

Caduceus closed his eyes, feeling grief and anger well up inside him—most of it was not directed at Fjord, but for him. The part of him that was angry at Fjord (for not trusting that the Wildmother would save him. For giving up. For not having faith) was satisfied to stand down for now. His relief at having Fjord back and safe was far more powerful.

“We’ll fix this,” he said. Fjord laughed, a touch too hysterically for Caduceus’ liking.

“I don’t know if you _can._ Whatever this thing is, whoever he is— his poison is deep in me.”

“Not as deep as the Wildmother’s love,” Caduceus said, hoping Fjord would hear the silent _my love, too_ in his words. Fjord scoffed disbelievingly. Caduceus shook his head. This was a battle that would take time to win, and Fjord had just finished fighting a traumatic battle of his own. It could wait for a while.

“Another time. For now, I think your friends have some questions for you.”

The Mighty Nein had scattered to explore the Nest and pillage anything worth keeping. Now, an hour or so later, they had more-or-less gathered in the common room, and though they were keeping their distance from Caduceus and Fjord, he could tell they were hovering, waiting for a moment to speak with him. He put his hand on Fjord’s knee and squeezed, then stood up.

“I’m going to finish preparing the food and bring it out. Talk to them.”

He left, and as he headed into the kitchen, he saw Fjord’s friends gather up in a loose circle around him, questions on their lips.

—

“So,” Beau said, leaning her hip against the table edge. Fjord groaned inwardly, resisting the urge to put his head down on the table. He was so tired and their questions were going to be so _complicated_ and he just wanted to eat something and go to sleep.

“So,” she repeated. “Fjord. Got anything to share with the class?”

“No,” Fjord said sullenly.

“Bullshit,” she said, punching his sore shoulder gently. He bit his lip to contain his unmanly whimper, but Beau did look acceptably guilty. She rested her hand where she had just hit and sat down next to him.

“Seriously, Fjord. The secret husband, the different voice—I just want to know what’s going on. Don’t you think you owe that to us?”

“Yes, Fjord, we’re your friends,” Jester added. Her eyebrows were knitted together in concern. Something unraveled inside Fjord. He had been avoiding her flirting for several reasons and now, looking back on what she had just learned, she surely thought he had been being cruel. And maybe he had been, a little bit.

“You are,” he said heavily. “And you’re right, Beau. I do owe you this. So here it is: Caduceus and I have been married for eight and a half years. Five years ago, I left to pursue the sea, as I thought was my calling. I’ve been trying to get back to him, but our group never seemed to be heading his way.”

“And your voice?” Caleb prompted. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he snapped, then winced. Caleb drew back, eyes wide in surprise and some invisible wall slamming down over his face.

He shook his head. “Sorry. Sensitive subject.”

“It doesn’t matter how you talk, Fjord, we love you anyway,” Jester said softly. 

“Why didn’t you tell us you were married?” Nott asked. She was quieter than usual, more withdrawn, sitting on the table with her chin on her knees. Her flimsy tail wrapped itself around her knees securely.

Fjord shook his head and sighed. “I don’t really know. It—it was an arranged marriage, first of all, and that always seemed odd to say aloud. And no one ever asked.”

“Did you miss him?” Nott whispered. “Did it hurt too much to talk about?”

“Maybe,” Fjord said. In truth, he had done his best _not_ to think about Caduceus while he was away, though he couldn’t even explain to himself why that was. 

At that moment, Caduceus emerged from the kitchen and began handing out bowls of thick vegetable stew. Fjord took his gratefully. He was starving—possibly literally—and Caduceus’ cooking never disappointed.

“So!” Caduceus said cheerfully after everyone had devoured their first bowl and on their second (or third, in Fjord and Jester’s case). “How did it go? Anyone have any burning questions I can answer?”

“Fjord said it was an arranged marriage. How did that happen?” Beau asked.

“My family had left. A firbolg does not fare well alone. I asked him to be my husband to ease the difficulty of my family leaving. He agreed.”

“How’s he in bed?” Jester demanded, leaning forward. Fjord flushed, glancing over at Caduceus.

“Best I’ve ever had,” Caduceus said serenely, and Fjord let out a sigh of relief. Caleb awkwardly lifted a hand.

“Ah, to that point…I’ve already discussed this with Beau, but I am unable to make a side-bubble for….amorous reasons. If you’d like to—reconnect—you’ll have to do so elsewhere.”

“I’m sure we’ll be able to sort it out for ourselves,” Caduceus said. “Thank you for your concern, though.”

“Of course,” Caleb muttered, looking very embarrassed. Fjord kept his own eyes glued to his bowl of stew, almost wishing he was still unconscious.

After they’d all eaten their fill, Caleb went about setting up the Hut for the night. As quietly as he could, Fjord grabbed Caduceus’ wrist and tugged him to one side.

“We should talk,” he said. “Where we won’t get interrupted.”

Caduceus nodded silently. Fjord caught Beau’s eye and raised his eyebrows, mouthing “get Caleb”. She nodded back, then jabbed Caleb in the side with her elbow. Caleb glanced over, took in Fjord and Caduceus lingering near the doorway and nodded. 

“You both will be able get into the Hut if you wish,” he said lowly, keeping as much attention off the pair as possible. Fjord smiled his thanks to both of them and they left. They went upstairs, rather than down this time, to the bedroom with multiple beds. He sat down on the edge of the cleanest-looking one, and Caduceus did the same.

Caduceus took a deep breath and said, “I assume you want to talk about our relationship.”

“Yeah,” Fjord admitted, dropping his head. He’d spent so long purposefully not thinking about Caduceus that having him right in front of him was off-putting. He felt wrong-footed, not knowing where they stood.

“I’m not sure I ever thanked you for marrying me,” Caduceus said with a tiny smile.

“Oh?” Fjord said.

“Yes, I don’t think I ever did. It was too much to ask of a stranger. Looking back and knowing what I know now, I think I would have been okay if you had declined, but at the time, I was convinced I would go mad. I was so scared to be alone—and you saved me from that fear. That’s huge. It speaks well of you that you’d do that for someone you’d just met. So thank you.”

“You’re—you’re welcome,” Fjord said, feeling more off-balance than ever. “What are you trying to say, Cad?”

Caduceus’ eyebrows shot up. “We were apart for years. You are changed, I am changed. You have friends and an ongoing commitment to them. I was thanking you for the chapter in our lives that is now over.”

“Over? What do you mean _over_?”

“Fjord, you honestly cannot expect things to be the way they were before, can you?”

It was simply said, the way Caduceus said most things. Many times during their marriage, Fjord had appreciated that honesty. Now, it stung to hear. He couldn’t help the heat in his voice when he spoke. “You’re right. I don’t want things to be _like they were before.”_

“Then we agree. So why are you mad at me?” Caduceus asked, looking flummoxed.

“Because I was expecting my husband to be waiting for me,” Fjord ground out through clenched teeth.

“I did, and then I left to find my family. I’m sorry for breaking my promise, but I—”

“That’s not what I meant. I mean, I thought you’d still be committed to me. You always said how important it was to you for us to share our bond. And you’re just throwing it away, the second you find me again?”

“You _just_ said you didn’t want to go back to what we had before,” Caduceus said, throwing up his hands in frustration.

“I wanted to improve what had! Being with you in the Grove was timeless—unreal, almost. Now we’re both out of it. I want to give us another shot. See how we do in the real world.”

He took Caduceus’ hand. “I want to keep loving you, Cad, but I can’t love you like it’s a duty.”

“Is that what you were doing?” Caduceus said, stricken. He pulled his hand away and cradled it against his chest as if it was injured.

Firmly, Fjord said, “I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to. But, in a way, yes. I married you to save you—no matter what you feel now, you needed it then, and don’t try to change my mind about that. I loved you to keep you safe, and I loved being loved in return. I loved you because it was expected of me, because it needed to happen, because there really wasn’t another choice. Then I left, and I missed you. I _still_ miss you. I want to love you as a choice. Outside the Grove. Outside the Clays and the Stones and the Wildmother’s expectations. Do you understand what I’m saying, Caduceus?”

“I really don’t.”

“I’m asking you to stay with the Mighty Nein. I’m asking you to stay at my side, and let me stay at yours.”

“I—” Caduceus shook his head. “I don’t know, Fjord. So much has changed.”

“Have your feelings for me changed?”

“No. Yes. It depends on how you define ‘changed’. Being apart for so long has made them….atrophy, in some ways. But today, when I realized it was you in that cell, it was like my own heart was chained up with you.”

Caduceus rested his hand against Fjord’s chest, firm and insistent. “I have always loved you. I love all of the Wildmother’s gifts, and you were the greatest of them.”

Fjord’s throat worked, trying to keep tears—or his supper—under control. The warmth in his stomach that had been growing since he’d reunited with Caduceus suddenly soured.

“I _wish,”_ he ground out. “I wish that for once in your _fucking_ life, you could stop thinking about her before me. She’s not the reason for all the good things in your life. I’m not her pawn, and I’m certainly not a gift for her to give.”

“That’s not fair,” Caduceus said hotly. “Like it or not, she did lead you to me the first time. Just because you never allowed her love in doesn’t mean I have to give up my faith.”

Fjord opened his mouth to retort, but Caduceus said, “Stop.”

He took Fjord’s hand and pressed his knuckles against his mouth. “I just found you. I can’t lose you again. Please. We can fight later—or at least talk about the Wildmother later. For now, I just want to have my husband back.”

Fjord didn’t answer. Caduceus said, “I love you, Fjord. I know your faith is not like mine, but have faith in that.”

Fjord pressed his lips together, hearing his own words echoed back at him, from the day he left Caduceus. Slowly, Fjord took Caduceus’ face in his hands. When he kissed him, his anger melted away. 

“I love you, too,” he said, an admission of faith. Caduceus wrapped his arms around Fjord’s neck, kissing him like a promise, like the first kiss they’d shared to seal their marriage.

“Let’s try it. Being married,” Caduceus said. He trailed a hand down Fjord’s face. They sat together, holding each other, for a few quiet moments. Fjord was just about to suggest trying to get some rest when Caduceus said, “I know you’re tired…but if you would like to make love, I would be agreeable to that.” 

Heat rushed through Fjord at the thought of having Caduceus again, after all this time, and the lethargy clinging to his limbs suddenly vanished.

“Fuck, yeah, I can do that,” Fjord said, pulling Caduceus in and then pulling them both down onto the bed. Between kisses, Fjord murmured, “It’s been so long, Caduceus, I missed you the whole time.”

“Did you have sex with anyone else?” 

The question drew Fjord up short. He stopped, leaning back to look at Caduceus carefully.

“Why do you ask?”

“I should know if we need protection from something you might have picked up elsewhere,” Caduceus said calmly, like he hadn’t just accused Fjord of cheating.

“I can’t believe you have to ask me that. I’m your husband, Cad,” Fjord said. Caduceus sat up, still half on Fjord, and pushed his hair back.

“I know how often we had sex when we lived together. I assumed you’d need roughly the same level of fulfillment when we were separated. It wouldn’t bother me,” he added. “As long as you’re honest and tell me about any future partners you intend to take.”

“No,” Fjord said firmly. “I wouldn’t—I’m committed to you. I didn’t have sex with anyone.”

“You don’t sound terribly sure,” Caduceus pointed out. Fjord covered his eyes with his hands, briefly, and grunted.

“There was another guy,” Fjord admitted. “Sabien. A crewmate. He—well, he sabotaged my ship and nearly killed me. But—before that. He was….a good friend. He was attracted to me, I could tell. I thought, for a while, I had fallen in love with him, but nothing happened. That turned out to be a good thing. The betrayal and all.”

Fjord swallowed as tears pricked at his eyes. In the same way he hadn’t been thinking of Caduceus, he rarely let himself think about Sabien—his bright eyes, his quick, dry wit, his rough hands and hot breath ghosting over Fjord’s cheek, promising the fun they would have together. For a moment, Fjord had considered his offer, but he’d noticed a cloud, stained pink with the light of the sunset, the same shade of Caduceus’ eyes and the urge had passed. Neither of them had spoken of it again, and, less than a year later, Sabien had almost prevented Fjord from returning to Caduceus at all.

“I can see he hurt you,” Caduceus said quietly. 

“Right now, this isn’t about him. It’s about us.”

“Let’s wait to have sex again,” Caduceus said. Fjord made a noise of confusion and Caduceus’ lips twitched in amusement. Then his expression grew serious again. “I shouldn’t have suggested it in the first place. You’re still badly injured. We’ve both changed so much. We shouldn’t just fall into old habits until we know it’s what we want.”

“I’ll always want you,” Fjord said, on instinct.

“That might just be the trauma talking,” Caduceus said. He kissed Fjord’s forehead and stood up. He held out his hand. “Let’s rejoin the others. Get some rest.”

Fjord pulled back on Caduceus’ hand at the doorway. “Wait.”

Caduceus looked back expectantly. “Hmm?”

Fjord shifted uncomfortably, uncertainty making him feel younger than he was. “Do you—do you really still want to be my husband? We can break up. Start over and date normally. If that’s something you want.”

Caduceus hummed. “I do not relish the idea of giving up our past like it was nothing—to me, it was everything. Things may be different now, but not that different.”

Relief flooded through Fjord. “Okay. Now I’m want to sleep for a day and a half.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Caduceus promised. They walked back downstairs and rejoined the others, hand in hand, and settled down inside the Hut. Fjord let Caduceus wrap him up in an embrace, safe and warm with his back pressed against Caduceus’ front, and closed his eyes. There was so much they would have to talk about and work out. His pact with the sea god, for one. His relationship with the Wildmother, and all the complexities that came with that. Caduceus’ family, the rest of the Clays, and the still-dying Blooming Grove. Their own relationship, built on a snap decision and rebuilt on choice. The Mighty Nien, and if Caduceus wanted to join the group. There was so much he didn’t know how to handle, but he could handle this: Caduceus, his husband, the man he loved, and how their breathing aligned when they fell asleep wrapped up in each other’s arms. Of all the things in the world, he could put his faith in that.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sidras-tak or brenthebrave on tumblr, come chat!


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